Am I not a Man and a Brother?
by eggshelled
Summary: Stiles can see the fire rising over the hill, and knows even as he stands in front of Scott, that Scott is his best friend and friendship sometimes requires sacrifice.


**Bromance fic, no slash**

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><p>"<strong>…`Accursed creator! Why did you form a monster so hideous that even YOU turned from me in disgust? God, in pity, made man beautiful and alluring, after his own image; but my form is a filthy type of yours, more horrid even from the very resemblance. Satan had his companions, fellow devils, to admire and encourage him, but I am solitary and abhorred…<strong>" – excerpt narrated by Frankenstein from Mary Shelley's _Frankenstein_

... ... ...

Stiles leaned over, hands braced against his knees, and panting trying to control his breathing – in through his nose, out of his mouth while Scott bound ahead. Scott apparently realized that Stiles wasn't following and turned abruptly, jogging back over to his friend. "Stiles! Stiles get up! They're coming," Scott hisses, his quesadilla breath fanning over Stiles face.

Stiles breathes out and was reluctantly coming to a decision that Scott wouldn't like, and one Scott's entire pack would likely have something to say about. "You're gonna have to go on without me. I can't keep up with you, dude," he manages to say between gulping for air like water.

Scott doesn't even pause to look confused before he shakes his head in a negative, "No, come on, the house isn't far," he looks over the hill and sniffs, and knows something Stiles doesn't. "Come on Stiles, _come on_," he tugs Stiles's arm as if he were a particularly stubborn mule, and starts to walk again without letting go of Stiles's elbow.

"Scott, Scott, wait up, hold on," Stiles tries to pull Scott's fingers from his elbow and is strangely reminded of the time when they went on an adventure together near the creek when they were in fifth grade and had forgotten where the trail was. Scott had a tendency of being touchy-feely when he was anxious, or scared.

"There's about twenty of them Stiles, and I heard Jackson give a warning howl a couple minutes ago so Derek knows. He'll know what to do." Stiles knows Scott well enough that he doesn't have to see the grimace of fear that crosses Scott's face to know that it's there. "He _has_ to." His voice breaks a little.

Stiles is quiet for a moment, staring at the back of his friend's head while his body tries to gain control over his breathing. He watches Scott, feeling that Scott is ten years old again and they're lost in the woods because they'd forgotten where the path was.

"Scott. Scott, stop," this time, Stiles punctuates himself with a shove to Scott's side and it surprises his friend so much that his grip slips off Stiles's elbow completely.

"What? Stiles we don't have time to think of a plan here we have to find Derek and the others," Scott's eyes flicker between dark brown and tawny yellow in his rising panic.

Stiles put his hands on his waist and looks down, thinking how best to word what he knows should happen. He's a coconspirator; that much was obvious to anyone, especially the mob following them carrying guns and knives. He's the one who had distracted everyone in a very obvious way while Scott and Jackson had accidentally turned after a lacrosse game when a rogue Hunter not from Beacon Hills had shot Jackson in his shoulder with a handgun. They'd reacted on instinct with a crowd of people watching them.

He'd bought them time, and the crowd knew that Stiles had obviously known what these boys were, so he was just as guilty as they were for being monsters.

Scott had come back for him while Jackson drew some of the crowd away; baying a warning to Lydia, wherever she was.

Stiles breathes out through his nose, pinches his bridge and looks up at Scott in the arrestingly somber-squint he knew he inherited from his dad.

"Scott, you're going to have to leave me behind." He decides finally and prepares himself for the inevitable onslaught of his best friend panicking.

"What? No! H-h-how could I leave you to _them_? Stiles, they'll like hang you or stone you or something!" Scott's eyes are wide and hysteria is beginning to creep in.

Stiles holds up his hands, "Scott, I'm human, so they can't even touch me without dealing with the law, but I'm sure that nothing in the law that protects werewolves!" he rushes at the end, focusing at the topic because this is serious, so serious. "Scott," he pauses, staring his friend in the eye. "You have to find the others and leave. Look, they saw me leave with you, so I can fox-trail them away from you, okay? Scott?"

Scott shakes his head. "No. No way." He doesn't want to leave his best friend behind, and Stiles doesn't want to be left behind, but Stiles thinks he's also a bit more practical than Scott.

Stiles reaches over, grabbing Scott's shoulders, "Buddy, you have to leave, because I'm going to slow all of you down. Until things get explained around here, you can't come back."

"And you think they're going to be all cool with you knowing we were werewolves? They'll _kill you_ Stiles!" Scott bellows back, eyes flaring yellow. "Or at the very least, you'll be a pariah!"

Stiles sucks on the inside of his cheeks and yanks Scott close for a hug. He tightens his grip around his friend's shoulders, "Pariah won't be much different, not like we were really popular. I mean you scarlet-nerded me and all." Stiles's tone changes then, from the sardonic humor to resignation. "Scott, I know what I have to do, and I'm going to do it. Just like you know what you have to do. And what you're going to do is take your werewolf ass and find Derek." He can feel tears pricking his eyes, at the thought of sending his best friend away, at the thought of sending the people who he knows of, and who know of him as pack, away. He doesn't bother blinking them away.

"Just-how am I- j-just supposed to what? Abandon you?" Scott's voice breaks again, cracking like a shattered vase, and Stiles knows he's trying to keep from crying too.

"Not abandoning, abandoning is like without consent –"

Stiles is cut off from speaking when they hear distant yells and chanting growing closer.

Stiles sets his jaw and releases Scott. "Okay buddy, you have to leave, like now."

Scott hesitates and Stiles tries to reassure him, "Scott, they can't do anything to me. I'll be okay and so will Allison. We both will, but you have to leave because once they get here and find you, I can't protect you." Stiles strengthens his voice with the steel backbone Stilinski men have, "Go Scott, and don't look back. It's all good."

Stiles hears a shot behind him and turns. "Stiles," Scott tries again, sounding pained.

The mob has covered a lot of ground, and he can now see the light from the medieval torches they lit, presumably to light the werewolves on fire. They glow in the night, bright as beacons. "Scott, take care of yourself." He says it softly. "And remember to not look back. Just find Derek and keep away, Scott. No super-wolf stuff okay?"

There is a moment of silence before Stiles hears a branch snap far off and Scott is running deeper in the woods to the Hale house.

The mob is on top of the hill now, fires flickering in the night and Stiles can smell lighter fluid and gunpowder. They only see Stiles without his werewolf companion and Stiles can feel their hate and anger toward him, even as he raises his hands in surrender.

Scott is his best friend, a brotha from anotha motha and he always had been from the first day of second grade. Friendship is a lot like family. It requires sacrifice from everyone and sometimes bargains have to be made with one person to protect everyone.

Stiles breathes in through his nose, and out of his mouth, and steps forward with his hands still raised to confront the mob.


End file.
